Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1887-02-23
THE LAND OF BURNS.
"A Tourists Account OF n Trip from
Dumfries to Ayr.

| SeiV9t coupe at Carll5ie IL ndu ldr-
dened very perceptibly. When we had
landed in Liverpool the effect OF hear
irg the English accent every where was
peculiar. Coming fresh from the land
where it Is matter or derision for the
small wits, and even the native English
who employ it are suspected of affec-
tatiOn, a whole natlGn seemed TO be
struck with an attack of Anglomania.
But il was more curious still to hear
the soft English give way before the
rude gales of the north, and change
mo t perceptibly hour by hour, till at
last, at DumfrleS, it was thick enough
10 tell US that we we're in Scotland.
We were in the land of Burns-for
at Dumfries his monuments begin
and the mere mention of his name sets
the Scotch tongues a-wagglng. Burns
died at Dumfrles and there is beauti-
full monument to his memory in the
yard of st. Michael's But though
Dumfries claimed him at his death.
Ayr claimed him at his birth, and Ayr
Is forty miles AWAY very cfnsidera-
BILE distance in Scotland. So long a
journey Invo we'd another change OF
tram, for though Ayr is known the world
over in letters, from railroad point of
view 1t is a. obscure place. So we
were whirled to the market town of
kilmarnock, to catch the little branch
railway. Our beautiful red velvet
coupe had degenerated to gray cor
duroy at Carlisle, and at Kilmarnock
We had another drop to blue felt.
There is scarcely man from Dum-
70 Aur hA
almost every poem that Burns ever
wrote, and the tinie5t lad or lass will
point out to you the bracs of Balloch.
myle, the castle Of Montgomery, or the
banks o. Doom, and tell you which one
OF Bobbie Burns many sweethearts
lived there.
Everything seems to be IN order In
Scotland. especially in the west coun-
tree. We went through miles of
swelling land were the fields were
newly p!owed, and every furrow was as
straight as an arrow. The hedges were
as trim as in England. There was not
blade of cultivated grass awry, and
the humble, simple little cottages,
plain to the last degree, all alike and
without one single attempt at architec-
clean, well kept and fresh as a good
housewives dresser. Even the moors
at the edge of the horizon, not yet
purple with the August heat, looked
trim and swept, and anything but
wild.
The train pulled up with a little
snort about 5 in the afternoon, and We
found ourselves at Avr. Another
change OF accent. The man of Ayr
speaks as differently from the man OF
Dumfrlesshire as DumfrissShire is diff
ferent from the man of Carlisle.
One does not wonder so much that
Bobby Burns became poet when one !,
gets into his pretty, fresh. green little
country. 1t is the most inspiring little
land in the world, with Its tricky skies.
its blue mOors, Its moist grennesS and ,
its world of traditions. One looks at
the hardy peasants toiling in the fields,
and 1t all seems very pOetical indeed.
One can easily pick Highland Mary"
or "Bonny Jean" from among these
large lImbed peasant women at a dis
tance, since distance tits that lends en-
chantment to the view.
But the wonder of 1t all, the marvel
of this pleasant poets soul only comes
home TO you as you bend your head to
enter the door of this lovely dwelling,
his cottage hut-no name could be too |
simple for its simplicity. AS you pass ,
through the inevitable turnstile you
find that 1t has but the two rooms of {
every Scotch peasants home, ''but the {
hoose' and ''ben the hoo5e." "Ben 2
the hOOSe" Is what the old time ankees '
used to call the keepin' room. but the 4
hoose" is where all the living seems to |
be done. For the mothers short bed
with its cotton curtains stands In one q
corner, the tall, old eight-day clock y
stands silent at its foot, as if, having h
licked at the death and birth of Bobbie I h
Burns, it had done Its life work and a
stopped. For these old Scotch clocks r
never wear out. There was a we'll n
filed dresser in another corner, and d
from the crane in the great open fire. t;
place some black pots still hung. There b
were some old tables and chairs which b
Bobbie had mutilated with his own un- I,
hand, and the sinking stone a
1OOr was the same over which his baby v
feet toddled long before any one could ST
know of his divine gift. i,
The big relic room is filled with me O
nentos Of Burns, many of them so [,
slight that only the most loving hand [,
would have collected them, for what n
could there be in the short d.
md simple annals Of peasants life? n
Being a poet, his manuscripts are his II
chief relics, and many of them are here q
inder glass. There are quantities of oI
)oem TO Burns, many of them-the "
pest OF them, indeed-by American II
,oets. Strangely enough, the poem by o,
Fitz Greene Halleck-One of the best ri
Burns poems ever written, though it OF
Gems to be an unfamiliar one-is not n
n the collection. The chairs occupied in
,y Tam O'Shanter and Souter Johnny a.
lpon that melancholy occasion when b,
hey ''boozsd at the nappy," occupy a d,
aised dais at the end of the room, and W
10 one less immortal than this worthy II
vain hrs ever been allowed TO occupy "
hem since these gentlemen passed into Il,
-erse m
The cottage keeper, shrewd, rosy h,
with as merry an eye as p
yer twinkled, finding us an enthusias. 81
ic group, read "Tam O'Shanter" to us w
rom the original manuscript. How "a
1t sounded, rolling freshly Ia
rom the lips of a native Scotchman cf
here upon its very own ground and W
With the very own handwriting Of the n,
'oet before our eyes, with Alloway and NJ
he banks o. Doom just out the window, le
nd all the pretty country that he en-
hanted rising up around us. He had ST
turn for humor, our Scotch reader, nj
nd when he came to those passages r
which in these days would be called "
he rolled his merry eye: n;
rolly, to see if, being but stupil q
americans, we took the point.